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Ambrosious the Warlord 3: A Round Table


Tweet of the Day: How to Choose Between a Big Word and a Small Word

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Severus the Rogue124

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The doors of the hall burst open.

“Father,” said Arthur. He dragged Gwenevere by the hand.

Father turned, his back curved with the weight of the bear pelt draped over his shoulder. Old eyes wrinkled with concern looked upon Arthur.

“What is it, son?”

Arthur turned to the group that followed. The warriors took a knee at the sight of my Father. The leader brandished a bronzed leaved spearhead.

“These men saved us from a Saxon attack,” said Arthur.

“Saxons? Here? Rise please, and tell me your names so that I may properly thank you,” ordered Father.

The spear man rose. The links of maille caught the dappled rays of sunlight that streamed through narrow windows of the hall. But there was something strange about him, something familiar. His nose was not unlike Father’s. His cheeks as high as Arthur’s. Yet his eyes were of a cold blue grey. Never had I seen a man with such frigid eyes such small motes of icy water.

This man is a abomination among men! Father, Brother, can’t you not see it?

My veins turned icy cold, yet the conversation continued. Arthur regaled us with the daring rescue by the man he called Mordred. Father nodded his approval. Mordred and his men stayed silent throughout.

“So, by what twist of Destiny you happen to be here, Mordred?” asked Father.

“We once served Vortigen, but he is now a prisoner in his own hall. He invited Saxons to serve him as mercenaries as the Romans and–”

“There are no Romans!” shouted Father. “There is no Rome! We stand alone!” he shook with rage.

“Father, please, let Mordred finish,” said Arthur.

“He sought to use them to defend his holdings and promised them land in exchange for their services. But they, led by the brothers Hengest and Horsa, flooded the countryside with their kin, collected taxes in the name of the King and punished most crudely and cruelly anyone who opposed them. When we raised our concerns to the King, they sent killers in the night for us. A dozen of us fell to knife and club before the alarm was raised. I’m afraid that those that attacked your son were coming after us, my Lord.” said Mordred.

“So the South has fallen. Very well, follow me,” said Father.

He led the arms men to an adjacent room where a large round table stood in the middle covered in sand.

“Merlin!” shouted Father.

The wise sage rushed to his side, “Yes, my Lord.” He waved a hand over the table. The sand changed to different shades of green and reshaped itself into map of the isles. Red flags appeared on the southeast corner. More banners in the North marked the Angles/Orcs and the Picts.

“So these are the Saxons you speak off, Mordred?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“Very well. Arthur!” Brother approached and bended a knee. Father took his bearskin cloak and put it on Arthur’s shoulders. He then took his sword from the scabbard and handed the gleaming icy blade to him. All eyes focused on the sword. Water dripped from the edge as the frozen metal met the humid summer air. Mordred’s blue-grey orbs shone in it’s presence. I’ve seen men hunger for it before, but never with such a gleeful smile of triumph. “This is your charge now, Arthur. Go forth and smite these interlopers before they come to far.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Arthur, his lips quivered in reverence.

“As for your Mordred. We shall have a banquet in your honor, for you have saved those who I hold most dear, Arthur and the Lady Guinevere.”

Thus the viper finds a new nest. But I can see it’s scales.

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2 comments on “Ambrosious the Warlord 3: A Round Table

  1. Really good, Ralfast.

    btw, I really like this description: “Small motes of icy water”.

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